


Répondez s’il vous plaît

by sloganeer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Honeymoon, Husbands, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: It was nice. It was tradition. But all David really wanted to do last night was to fuck his fiancé.-or, how to consummate a marriage.





	Répondez s’il vous plaît

Because his mother insisted it would be bad luck if he didn’t spend the night away from his fiancé, David wakes up in his old bedroom the morning of his wedding day. Patrick got to sleep in their bed; David brought their sheets with him. 

Alexis is snoring, face in the pillow, one foot peeking out from beneath the covers, the two of them back in this place he thought they had escaped forever. 

The door opens before David can brace himself to look at a clock. 

“Today’s the day!” his father announces, very loud, very chipper. “My son is getting married!”

“Your son needs ten more minutes of sleep, thanks.”

“Patrick called me.” Dad looks far too proud. “He wanted to make sure you were up.”

David flops back onto the bed and curses his fiancé. Alexis doesn’t move. 

When the hair and makeup teams arrive, David sets them up in his parents’s suite, and he insists they do the ladies first. It gets Alexis out of his room, it gives his mother a focus for her energy, and it means he can take a breath before the day comes rushing towards them. After he finishes in the shower, David wraps himself up in the dark blue robe he snuck out of the house with the sheets. Patrick used it after his shower yesterday morning, and it still holds his scent. 

David crawls back into bed, the robe warm around him like Patrick’s arms. His skin is buzzing, and when he rolls over, his hardening cock brushes against the rough fabric, making him moan. 

He presses his mouth into the pillow, waiting, listening, hoping no one next door heard him nearly lose it. David thrusts more deliberately into the mattress, enjoying the terry cloth texture, even if it’s Patrick’s touch he’s desperately wanting.

A sharp tap at the window startles David, and he yanks the covers over any exposed flesh. “What the fuck?”

He rolls off the bed to look and hears a whisper at the keyhole. “It’s me.”

“Patrick?!” With the door open just enough, David grabs hold of his fiancé’s elbow and pulls him into the room. He’s wearing his good London Fog trench over his pyjamas, and his shoelaces aren’t tied. He looks not quite sure how he ended up on the doorstep of the Rosebud Motel. 

David smirks. “What are you doing creeping around the windows of unmarried men?” 

With both hands clasped in the robe, Patrick takes a step back to gawk. 

“Are you—? Oh my god, you’re naked under there.” He drags David forward, and then they’re kissing. 

The actual bachelor party was last Saturday, in a country music karaoke bar Stevie had found, located exactly halfway between Schitt’s Creek and Toronto. Patrick had a lot of old friends excited to see him again; David had Stevie and Alexis.

Last night, it was just the five of them, trading drinks off a few cheap bottles and smoking through a bag Stevie brought. Patrick wasn’t allowed to stay, per Moira Rose’s directive, so Stevie agreed to escort him home and spend the night to get him to the altar. Ted stopped drinking early enough to be the designated driver. Then it was just David and Alexis, alone in this room where they had learned to be a family. 

“You’ll be fine,” Alexis said. “I’ve walked down, like, dozens of aisles, and your heels aren’t nearly as high as mine, so…”

It was nice. It was tradition. But all David really wanted to do last night was to fuck his fiancé. Obviously, from the way Patrick’s fingers are digging into David’s ass, the morning after, that’s what he wanted, too. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Patrick is chanting between their lips. “I missed you. I need you.”

David drags his hands up to Patrick’s shoulders, his big strong shoulders, and pushes the coat to the floor. He bites the jutting bone under the thin cotton of Patrick’s favourite shirt, a spot nearly worn through by David’s teeth and tongue. He bites a red line up Patrick’s neck and settles in under his jaw to suck a deep, dark hickey. 

“Are you kidding me?” Patrick says, the only one in the room with any sense. “I’m gonna be standing in front of the whole town in a few hours.” He yanks his shirt over his head. “Do my nipples,” he says, “where no one can see.”

“God, I love you.” David drops his robe and falls to his knees.

-

“Wait, ew, wait,” David says. “I think I’m kneeling on something wet.”

Patrick pulls him up off the floor by his armpits; David watches his muscles flex with the effort. “Just take off your pants,” Patrick says. “No big deal.” 

“OK, this suit is Gucci, so it actually is a big deal, and we’re in the janitor’s closet, so that puddle might be bleach.”

“Your pants are already white.”

David looks down at Patrick’s fingers speeding through his shirt buttons. “Point.”

Their mouths crash together in another kiss, nothing like the chaste meeting which sealed their vows. That kiss was for public consumption; no one but David is allowed to see Patrick like this, frantic, horny, good god. Once Patrick gets his teeth around David’s lip, it’s difficult to convince him to let go.

“One might believe you had been saving yourself for marriage, Mr. Rose,” David tells him, running his fingers through Patrick’s soft curls.

Patrick has the audacity to blush. 

As soon as the ceremony came to an end, David was ready for the honeymoon to start. He barely had the patience to follow Patrick back up the aisle. He was in no mood to face a receiving line. 

So he caught Stevie’s gaze through the crowd and signalled for a distraction. She blurted, “Whoops,” and tossed her bouquet over her shoulder, while David pulled Patrick around the corner and through the nearest door. It was a tiny storage closet, but it had a lock.

Their shirts are open now, but Patrick is still wearing his black jacket, pushed back to bare his shoulders. The white rose from his lapel falls to the floor with their jostling. David follows it down.

He hooks his boot heel around a step stool and pulls it between them, using the prop to put his mouth at the right height to lick at this morning’s hickies. As Patrick sags against the metal shelves. David opens his tuxedo pants with a practiced wrist and reaches into Patrick’s briefs. 

Patrick is so hard—slick, too, like he’s been leaking all morning, soaking his underwear. Thank god David put him in black for today. He rubs the palm of his hand over the head of Patrick’s cock and slides up and down with the heaving of Patrick’s chest.

“How long have you been needing this?” David asks, tongue tracing around those reddened nipples. He switches hands so Patrick can feel the cool metal of those rings. “How long would you have waited?”

Patrick groans his pleasure, and the sound echoes around them.

-

“I don’t want to wait any longer.” Patrick’s voice echoes in his ear, husky from singing, and Patrick’s erection is impatient where it’s pressed against David’s ass. 

“Yeah, well, I need to get the door unlocked, you horndog.”

Most of their weeklong honeymoon will be spent in New York, but first, they have a few days in Toronto. Patrick’s parents paid for the hotel suite and a chauffeured town car so neither of them had to drive the long road between country and city. 

David thought it might be fun, recreating a little of his past life (and Beyoncé’s fifth album) in the backseat of a fancy car with his new husband and the partition rolled up. Patrick fell asleep before they left Elm Valley. 

But when he woke up, as they were coming down the 401, Patrick was still drunk on the wedding, if not actual alcohol. That left David in charge of tipping and checking in—his least favourite part of his past life. But they made it to the hotel room. All David wants now is a bath.

“I want to suck your cock,” Patrick says, just so everyone on their floor is clear about his intentions.

“I want you to brush your teeth, and then we’ll see about that.” David manhandles him into the bathroom, propping his husband up against the counter so he can check their bags survived the trip.

The four suitcases (three for David, one for Patrick) have been delivered, stacked at the end of the bed—David’s Rick Owens overnight bag with their toiletries is on top. He carries the whole thing back to the bathroom, where Patrick has his head dunked into a sink full of water. 

“Are you still alive?” David asks, rubbing his back. He passes Patrick his toothbrush once he emerges. 

“I love you,” Patrick tells him, eyes shining and eyelashes clumped together. 

With two hands on the counter, on either side of Patrick’s hips, David presses their bodies together. He presses closer until Patrick stumbles and collapses to his elbows, head down, neck bared. 

“You like me taking care of you.” David pushes Patrick’s shirt up so he can kiss those shoulders.

Instead of using words, Patrick thrusts his ass back onto David’s hard cock. That’s what he needs. David thrusts back, hands on the slimmest part of Patrick’s waist, above his belt, on his skin.

The line of his erection slides between Patrick’s cheeks. But instead of riding that ass until he comes, David drags Patrick backwards against his chest. He kisses his cheek, turns him, and easily lifts Patrick onto the counter.

Legs open, knees apart, Patrick gets with the plan, and David slides in between his thighs. He kisses those shiny lips. He rubs their eager cocks together, no rush because they both know where this night is going.

“I’m gonna make you come,” David says. Patrick is still in his wedding trousers, a thin summer wool. “Because I love you.”

“Love you,” Patrick says, scratching his day-old beard across David’s cheek, tucking his face into David’s neck. It’s where he feels safe, and David puts a hand on the back of Patrick’s neck to hold him closer. 

The heat builds between them, but the pace slows to match the gentle beating of their hearts. David rocks the two of them together until they can’t keep kissing because Patrick can’t stop moaning. 

David feels his orgasm building in his belly. Patrick’s heels dig into David’s back, making him stutter and pick up the pace, chasing that climax they both need. 

“Don’t stop,” Patrick is saying, eyes hooded, mouth slack. David cups his palm between Patrick’s head and the mirror he’s banging into. He kisses Patrick’s stubble, his Adam’s apple, his collarbone. “Don’t stop.”

-

“Can we stop?” Patrick says.

David tosses his head to get his hair out of his eyes. He looks down at Patrick, a beautiful mess of a drowned dog between his legs. 

“This was your idea!”

With a lazy push, Patrick floats away from David, catching himself on the other side of the hotel bathtub. “That was before I got a nose full of water.” 

“Yeah, underwater blowjobs can be problematic. Lance Bass and I found that out the hard way.”

“Which one of you—?” He sputters and stares, while David enjoys the reaction. “No, wait, I don’t want to know.” Patrick shakes his head (it’s for the best), then turns away, blocking one nostril to blow the water out of the other. 

“Ew,” David says. “You’re such a boy.”

“You like boys.” He sticks out his tongue, and David remembers what they were trying to do. 

The tub is luxury, pure white porcelain, with water jets to massage all the right places. The whole big city of his youth, right outside the door, and they’ve barely left their room. David has taken a bath every morning and every night since they arrived in New York. 

Tonight, Patrick has joined him. 

“I thought I could do it,” Patrick says from his end of the tub. His hair is slicked back and even darker when wet. It makes him look dangerous. 

Gripping the edge of the bath, David lets his body rise to the surface, toes pointed in Patrick’s direction. He watches Patrick’s eyes follow the ripples he makes in the water. His cock is big and plump, bobbing like a playful seal. 

“I really want to blow you.” Patrick is pouting. David spreads his legs wide like an invitation. “We’re smart people. We can make this work.”

He floats back across the tub, feigning the breast stroke. David catches him between his thighs; Patrick looks happy to be caught.

“Get up on the edge,” he says.

David screws up his nose. Patrick kisses the wrinkles away. 

“But it’s cold up there,” David says. He sinks down, warm up to his ears. He watches Patrick’s chest as his husband stretches above the tub, grabbing one of the numerous fluffy towels to make a comfortable seat.

“Thank you,” David says, quietly, feeling his cheeks flush with something more than the humidity of the bathroom. With Patrick’s help, David hoists himself up above the water. 

Patrick settles back down between David’s thighs, slipping against the porcelain before he finds his footing. He grips David’s hips instead of the rim of the tub, turns his face into the slick softness of David’s skin. 

“Don’t make a move,” Patrick warns before he puts his mouth on David’s cock. 

-

“Why would I ever want to move from here?” David asks, sliding his hand low on Patrick’s belly, pulling him closer, tucking Patrick’s ass against his pelvis. “I live for lazy mornings.”

Patrick laughs, tilting his head back for a kiss. David gives it to him. 

“We just got home from our honeymoon. How much lazier can you get?”

“Now that we’re married,” David tells him, nipping the corded muscle of his neck. Patrick hums his pleasure, so David digs his teeth in deeper. “I’m gonna really let myself go.”

“I didn’t know there was more to go,” Patrick says. 

David slaps Patrick’s hip. “Mean.” But Patrick isn’t mean at all. He teases with love in every word.

With his hand moving from its home on Patrick’s hip, David smooths the rough flannel of the plaid pyjama bottoms. David is still naked under the covers, but Patrick likes to get dressed after sex. He likes to be prepared.

Before anything can happen to ruin his day, David sneaks his fingers underneath Patrick’s waistband, stroking the damp skin there until he reaches the short hairs around his cock. Patrick isn’t hard yet—rude—but he reaches under the covers and cups his hand around David’s bare ass. He squeezes and urges David to hump him. 

“Yeah?” David asks.

“One sec,” Patrick says, lips just barely catching the side of David’s head. He crawls away across the bed; David doesn’t approve, but he gets a nice view of his husband’s thick thighs. Distracted, David misses Patrick’s intentions until he’s back and shoving a condom and lube into David’s hand.

“Oh. Fuck. Yes.” David throws the covers back to give them room.

Patrick wriggles out of his pyjamas, tossing the clothes into the hamper in the corner. “Don’t go slow,” he says, watching David over his shoulder and rutting already against the mattress. The bite mark David left on his ass has turned into a vibrant purple reminder of their honeymoon.

David rolls the condom onto his erection before getting his fingers slippery with lube. Patrick is still open from last night’s welcome home fuck, and he barely makes a sound when David slides two fingers inside. 

“Get it in me, David.” Pushing up onto his knees, head tucked down between his shoulders, Patrick presents himself, like the take charge kinda guy he is. He knows exactly what he wants. David’s husband wants to be fucked.

If he had met Patrick in their previous lives, David might still have had a chance to get him in this position. He certainly would’ve wanted it—even if it was only the chance at a threesome with a curious straight couple. David would have wanted Patrick like this in his bed, except the sheets would’ve been silk, and the view would’ve been the city lights.

David had to wait longer than he would have cared, but Patrick came to him at the right time. It’s right that their bedsheets are warm flannel and their view is white plum blossoms. It’s right that Patrick can’t stop moaning a man’s name and that it’s David’s.

“I want to hear you, Mr. Rose,” David tells him, holding onto Patrick’s shoulders, thrusting into his ass. “Make some noise for me.”

He rides Patrick’s body hard, driving grunts and groans from his mouth. Not words, not now. This man, his husband, put together and practical—David delights in watching Patrick allow himself to fall apart. In their bed, he lets himself be free because Patrick knows he’s always safe.

David doesn’t have time to touch Patrick’s cock. It slaps wetly against sheets and skin, and then he feels Patrick’s body clench all over when he comes. When David pulls out, he rolls Patrick, boneless, onto his back, and once he gets the condom off, David jerks himself off, adding to the mess Patrick has made.

“Gimme a minute,” Patrick rasps. He flaps his hands in David’s direction.

“I’m good, honey.” David leans over to kiss his nose. Patrick’s lips pucker up for more, even as his eyes fall closed. David has worn him out, and before he can grab them a cloth to clean up, his husband is snoring softly into the pillow. 

In the bathroom, David wipes himself down and washes his hands. He checks his eyebrows in the mirror—ever vigilant. Behind him, Patrick’s dark blue robe is hanging from its hook, next to David’s white one. 

He grabs a washcloth and Patrick’s robe on the way back to bed. David slides it on, wrapping it tight, holding the fabric to his face. It always smells like Patrick.

His husband is fast asleep, arms spread wide across the mattress, mouth fallen open to the sky. “Men,” David scoffs, but he takes care of this one who belongs to him, who needs David to tell him when his shoes don’t match his belt, who doesn’t complain when David brings a book to baseball games, who washes the dishes because David does the laundry.

Patrick goes easily when David cleans him up and shoves him back onto his side of the bed. He barely wakes up, but he figures it out when David pulls his arm over his body and holds Patrick’s hand against his chest. Patrick cuddles up behind him, only the dark blue terry cloth between their bodies.

“Isn’t this my robe?” Patrick asks. His voice is soft in David’s ear. He stretches his fingers to weave them between David’s so they can hold each other’s hands even tighter. 

“What’s mine is yours,” David says. “What’s yours is mine.”

“Is that what I agreed to?”

“Yep.” David kisses the ring on Patrick’s finger. “And then we had a lot of sex, so no going back now.”

Patrick kisses the back of his neck. “I still do.”


End file.
